In the early morning, the rosy dawn erupted, bathing West Dam City in golden splendor. The black walls seemed trimmed with strands of gold, lending them a sacred aura.
Ye Fan arrived at a small restaurant, ordered a bowl of tofu pudding and a basket of small buns, then sat down to eat while watching the pedestrians on the ancient street.
The morning sun was just rising, and the rosy dawn felt very gentle, spilling warmth over people. There was no noise, no battle cries, no dazzling spiritual treasures, and certainly no blood—only tranquility and simplicity.
In recent years, Ye Fan's life had been a whirlwind of activity. He had constantly faced life and death, growing accustomed to scenes of severed heads and blood-drenched skies as he wandered between existence and oblivion. At this moment, however, he felt profoundly serene.
